Chapter Text
The kid's fingers moved like spiders across the keyboard, quick and restless. Teddy adjusted his headset for the third time in ten minutes, the foam ear cushions already damp with sweat. His bedroom smelled like microwaved pizza rolls and the faint metallic tang of an overheating gaming laptop.
"Chat, I swear to god, if you don't stop backseating I'm turning off donations," Teddy muttered, squinting at the flood of green text scrolling too fast on his second monitor. His voice cracked halfway through the sentence—just enough to make him wince. Twelve was a stupid age.
"Yo TeddyBear69, why you always wear that hoodie?" The message flashed neon pink—a $5 donation boost—just as Teddy wiped pizza grease on his jeans. He snorted, leaning back in his creaky gaming chair. "Because my mom bought it for my birthday and it's cool.
The chair squeaked violently as Teddy jerked forward, nearly headbutting his webcam. "Wait, what?" The pink message pulsed mockingly at the top of his chat: *£50 if you lose the hoodie. Another £50 if you go full shirtless. -NarwhalKnight47*. Teddy's fingers hovered over the keyboard. Fifty quid was half his mic upgrade. His thumb rubbed absentmindedly at the peeling Xbox sticker on his laptop.
"Uh." Teddy's voice did the stupid cracking thing again. The chat exploded into rapid-fire emojis—eggplants, water droplets, a suspicious number of flexed biceps. His viewer count ticked up by fourteen. A cold drip of sweat slid down his spine. "I mean. It's kinda warm in here anyway." The hoodie hit the floor with a muffled thump, revealing a faded Space Invaders t-shirt two sizes too big.
The Space Invaders shirt clung to Teddy's ribs for a second before he peeled it off in one jerky motion, revealing pale skin stretched tight over the delicate architecture of childhood—no hair, no muscle definition, just the faint blue veins of a kid who spent too much time indoors. His collarbones stuck out like parentheses framing the hollow dip of his throat.
The notification pinged like a casino jackpot—*£50 from NarwhalKnight47: damn u cute*. Teddy’s mouth went dry. His fingers twitched over the mouse, accidentally alt-tabbing out of his game to reveal the stream stats. Viewer count: 387 and climbing. A fresh message popped up, this time from *BubblegumBastard*—*£100: bro ur hot no cap*—followed by a string of fire emojis.
"Uh. Thanks?" Teddy's voice came out as a squeak. His hands hovered uselessly over the keyboard, the game forgotten. The chat was moving too fast now, a blur of dollar signs and pixelated hearts. Someone donated £2 just to type *PINCH UR NIPS*. Teddy choked on a laugh. "What? No way—" But the viewer count ticked up again. 412. His throat tightened.
Teddy's fingers twitched near his collarbone, hesitating. The chat was scrolling too fast now—half bullying, half cheering—with donation alerts pinging like a slot machine. His thumb brushed accidentally against one pink nipple, already pebbled from the cool air of his bedroom. A sharp, unfamiliar sensation shot down his spine, making his toes curl inside his mismatched socks.
"O-okay, fine, but just once—" Teddy's voice cracked as he pinched the left one experimentally between thumb and forefinger. The gasp that escaped him was embarrassingly loud, high-pitched, completely involuntary. His other hand flew to his mouth as his back arched slightly in the gaming chair, knees pressing together. The chat exploded into a frenzy of rocket and explosion emojis. Viewer count: 487.
Someone donated £20 just to type *AGAIN* in all caps. Teddy's face burned, but his fingers—moving on their own now—drifted back to his chest. This time he rolled the right nipple slowly, testing, and a full-body shudder wracked him. "Oh—oh god," he whimpered, hips jerking forward against nothing. The sensation was dizzying, like scratching an itch he didn't know he had. His shorts felt suddenly tight in a way that made his stomach flip.
*£50 from NarwhalKnight47: HOLY SHIT KID U R NATURAL*. Teddy barely registered the alert, too focused on the way his body kept reacting—every tentative pull sending sparks to places that made his breath hitch. His right hand slid down instinctively, hovering over the tent in his shorts before he froze, mortified. The viewer count hit 600 just as someone spammed *TOUCH IT TOUCH IT TOUCH IT* in rainbow text.
The next donation alert blared like a fire alarm—£100 from *PeekABooPanda* with the message: *MOVE CAMERA DOWN SWEETIE WE WANNA SEE THE WHOLE SHOW*. Teddy's fingers froze mid-air, hovering over the obvious tent in his shorts. His throat clicked audibly as he swallowed. The chat was a hurricane of dollar signs and pleading eyes emojis, the viewer count ticking past 700 now, higher than he'd ever gotten playing Fortnite.
"Uh—" Teddy's knee jerked nervously, knocking against his desk. The webcam wobbled precariously. His hands shook as he reached for it, adjusting the angle downward until his entire body was visible—pale thighs pressed together, socks sliding against the chair's leather, the unmistakable bulge tenting his shorts. A fresh wave of donations chimed in rapid succession, each ping making his stomach flip.
With trembling fingers, Teddy hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. The elastic snapped against his hips as he pushed them down in one jerky motion, revealing plain white briefs stretched tight. The chat erupted into a symphony of keyboard smashes and heart-eye emojis. Someone donated £50 just to type *FUCKING PERFECT*. Teddy's breath came in shallow gasps, one hand still absently rolling a nipple between his fingers.
The donation alert chimed with an almost musical cruelty—£200 from *ShadowPuppet88*—flashing crimson across Teddy’s screen: *GET NAKED AND TOUCH URSELF BABY BOY*. His breath hitched, fingers pausing mid-air over his straining briefs. The chat erupted into a frenzy of eggplants and peach emojis, viewer count surging past 900.
"Um," Teddy whispered, voice cracking into nothing. His thumb hooked deeper into the waistband of his briefs, the elastic snapping against his hip bones. The sensation was strange—hot and cold at once, his stomach swooping like he’d missed a step on the stairs. The webcam’s red light blinked steadily, unblinking as God.
The briefs hit the floor with a soft whisper, revealing pale thighs and the delicate, hairless mound between them. Teddy’s hands fluttered uselessly at his sides, unsure where to land. His dick—small and pink, the foreskin still tightly furled like a rosebud—stood at half-mast against his stomach. The chat exploded into a storm of *AWWW* and *SO SMOL* mixed with heart emojis and predatory fire symbols.
"I—I don’t really…" Teddy’s voice died in his throat as he stared down at himself, utterly lost. His fingers brushed tentatively against the shaft, more of a pat than a stroke, and he flinched at the sensitivity. A high-pitched whine escaped him before he could stop it. The viewer count ticked past 1,000.
*£300 from ShadowPuppet88: LIKE THIS BABY* flashed across the screen, accompanied by a crude ASCII art diagram of a hand gripping a stick figure’s dick. Teddy squinted at it, brow furrowed. He tried wrapping his fingers around himself like the drawing showed, but his grip was awkward, his movements stuttering and unsure. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, chasing the sensation, but he didn’t know how to chase it properly.
Teddy's breath came in shallow, hitching little gasps as his fingers fumbled against himself—too dry, too tight, the skin not moving the way he'd seen in those stolen glimpses of porn on his older cousin's phone. His foreskin barely budged, stubbornly clinging to the flushed pink tip no matter how awkwardly he tugged at it. The chat was scrolling too fast now, a dizzying blur of conflicting advice—*USE SPIT* and *LICK UR HAND* mixed in with *SO CUTE* and *NEED TO SEE U CUM*—each message making his ears burn hotter.
*AWWW HIS FIRST WANK* flashed across Teddy's screen in hot pink letters, accompanied by a donation chime that sounded suspiciously like a baby rattle. Teddy's entire body jerked at the phrase—his knee slammed into the desk drawer, sending a half-empty can of Mountain Dew vibrating across the surface.
"I'm not—this isn't—" Teddy's protest died in his throat as his own fingers twitched against his shaft, sticky with nervous sweat. The sensation was overwhelming and confusing, like trying to solve algebra while riding a rollercoaster. His hips stuttered forward without permission, chasing the unfamiliar pressure. The chat erupted into *BABY'S FIRST TIME* and *SO INNOCENT* peppered with dollar signs.
Teddy's breath hitched as another flurry of messages cascaded across his screen—*WELCOME TO MANHOOD KID* and *UR OFFICIALLY A GROWN ASS BOY NOW* mixed with laughing emojis and pixelated champagne bottles popping. His cheeks burned hotter than his overheating laptop, fingers twitching uselessly in his lap. Then a new message, highlighted in gold—*£150 from SoleCollector: SHOW US THOSE LIL FEET PRINCESS*—followed by three footprint emojis.
Teddy's toes curled instinctively inside his mismatched socks—one neon green, one black with holes at the heels. The *£150 from SoleCollector* blinked mockingly on screen, followed by another *SHOW US THOSE LITTLE PIGGIES* in rapid succession. His breath hitched as he hooked trembling fingers into the elastic of his left sock, peeling it off with a wet sound—his soles were sweaty, the fabric clinging stubbornly before finally giving way to reveal pale, narrow feet with bitten-down toenails. The chat erupted into *AWWWW* and *TINY FEET* as he kicked the sock toward his discarded hoodie.
His right hand hovered uncertainly over his stiff little cock, fingers twitching like he was trying to recall a forgotten password. The sensation was overwhelming—every brush of his fingertips sent electric jolts up his spine, but the mechanics of it all felt impossibly foreign. Someone donated £10 just to type *JUST RUB IT LIKE A DOOR KNOB KID*. Teddy whimpered, experimentally wrapping his fingers around the shaft and twisting awkwardly—the motion sent a shockwave through him, his hips jerking forward so violently his knee smacked against the desk again.
"O-oh—" Teddy's mouth fell open, his breath coming in shallow gasps as his fingers moved faster now, spurred on by the chat's relentless encouragement. The rhythm was clumsy—his wrist twisting one way while his hips jerked another—but the building pressure between his legs was undeniable, tightening his stomach in a way that made his toes curl against the cold floor. The viewer count surged past 1,200 as someone spammed *HES GONNA POP* in flashing rainbow letters.
Teddy's back arched suddenly, his free hand flying to his mouth to stifle a high-pitched cry as his whole body tensed like a coiled spring. For one dizzying second, the world narrowed to the white-hot sensation between his legs—then he shuddered violently, his cock twitching in his fist as a weak dribble of clear fluid beaded at the tip. No proper cumshot, just the faintest glistening proof of release. The chat exploded into *OMG* and *BABY'S FIRST NUT* mixed with crying-laughing emojis.
"Aw baby's first dry orgasm!" flashed across the screen in bubblegum pink, followed by a cascade of heart-eyed emojis. Teddy panted, slumped boneless in his gaming chair, his damp fingers still loosely cupping his softening dick. The chat blurred into a kaleidoscope of conflicting messages—*SO CUTE* and *WAIT TILL U SHOOT* scrolling too fast to read properly.
*£50 from NarwhalKnight47: UR SO TINY U CANT EVEN CUM PROPERLY* pulsed mockingly at the top of the screen. Teddy's throat tightened. He wiped his sticky hand on his Space Invaders shirt still crumpled on the floor, suddenly hyper-aware of how small his body looked in the webcam's unflinching gaze—knobby knees pressed together, ribs visible with each shallow breath.
The donation alert chimed with a sharp, almost predatory trill—£200 from *SoleCollector*—flashing crimson across Teddy’s screen: *PUT THOSE LITTLE FEET ON CAMERA BABY BOY*. His breath hitched, toes curling instinctively against the cold floor. The chat erupted into a frenzy of footprint emojis and *SHOW US SOLE* demands, viewer count ticking past 1,300.
"I—uh—" Teddy's voice cracked into nothing as he stared at his own pale feet, still slightly damp from sweat. His knees knocked together nervously as he lifted one leg, then the other, balancing precariously on the edge of his gaming chair. The angle was awkward—his thighs spread just enough to reveal the soft, hairless cleft between them, his pink hole clenching reflexively as the webcam's red light blinked unflinchingly.
*AWWWWW* flooded the chat alongside *SO TINY* and *VIRGIN PINK* as Teddy hesitantly wiggled his toes for the camera. The soles of his feet were smooth, the arches high and delicate like a dancer's, though he'd never done anything more athletic than sprint to the cafeteria for pizza day. Someone donated £15 just to type *LICK THEM* in all caps.
Teddy's breath hitched as he stared at his own trembling toes—still flexing awkwardly for the webcam like he was trying to perform some bizarre puppet show. The chat scrolled faster now, a dizzying mix of *AWWWW* and *LICK LICK LICK* that made his stomach flip. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips before he could stop himself.
Teddy hesitated, his pink tongue hovering centimeters from his own toes. The chat erupted into a frenzy—half begging, half mocking—as he inhaled the faint salty scent of his own sweat. His stomach twisted with something between shame and exhilaration.
Teddy's tongue connected with the arch of his foot in one quick, experimental flick—the taste was salt and something unmistakably *him*, a flavor he'd never considered before. The chat exploded into a cacophony of dollar signs and drooling emojis. Someone donated £30 just to type *DEEPTHROAT THOSE TOES PRINCESS*. Teddy's cheeks burned hotter than his laptop's exhaust vents as he curled forward, awkwardly trying to fit more of his foot into his mouth while his free hand instinctively drifted back to his softening cock.
The bedroom door handle rattled with the suddenness of a gunshot. Teddy's entire body jerked violently, his foot slipping from his mouth with a wet pop as his elbow knocked the webcam sideways—now showing a diagonal slice of ceiling and the frantic scramble of his legs.
"Teddy? You okay in there?" His mother's voice carried through the door with the particular pitch of someone already halfway to concerned. "Sounded like you fell or something."
Teddy's heart hammered against his ribs hard enough to bruise. His fingers scrabbled for the Space Invaders shirt on the floor, yanking it over his head with such force the seams groaned. The fabric caught on his still-damp cock for one horrifying second before finally sliding into place. "F-fine! Just—uh—dropped my controller!" His voice cracked twice in five words.
A beat of silence. Then the doorknob twisted again. "You're being weird. Did you spill soda on your laptop again?" The accusation in her tone made Teddy's stomach flip—not with arousal this time, but the familiar dread of being caught mid-mischief. His gaze darted to the chat, now scrolling at warp speed with *HIDE THE CAM* and *MOM GONNA SEE UR DICK* in alternating flashes.
"N-no, mom! I'm fine!" Teddy squeaked, his voice pitching up like a deflating balloon. He slapped a hand over his webcam, the plastic warm from overuse. "Just finishing up my stream!" His free hand scrambled for the keyboard, fingers slipping on the keys as he frantically typed *BRB* into chat—the letters came out lopsided and missing the 'R'.
The doorknob stopped turning. A beat of silence stretched thin enough to snap. Teddy held his breath until his lungs burned. "...Okay," came his mother's voice, muffled through the door. "Dinner's in twenty. Meatloaf." Her footsteps retreated down the hallway, each creak of the floorboards making Teddy's shoulders inch down from his ears.
Teddy exhaled in a rush, slumping forward until his forehead thunked against the keyboard—a dozen random keys registered the impact, flooding the chat with gibberish. The webcam, still crooked from his elbow knock, showed only the top of his disheveled hair and one wide, panicked eye. The chat had descended into chaos—*MOM ALMOST SAW UR DICK* scrolled alongside *MEATLOAF LMAO* and *SHOW US UR MEATLOAF NEXT*.
Teddy's fingers trembled as he peeled his forehead from the keyboard, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The chat was a blur of motion—viewer count skyrocketing past numbers he'd never dreamed of. 20,000. Twenty thousand. The digits burned into his retinas like overexposed pixels. His highest stream before today was 112 viewers during a Fortnite tournament where he'd accidentally won by hiding in a bush.
"Uh." Teddy's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, throat clicking. The chat exploded into *DONT LEAVE* and *MORE MORE MORE* peppered with dollar signs. His Space Invaders shirt clung damply to his back, the fabric twisted from his frantic scrambling. "I—I think I'm gonna end stream here, chat." The words tasted like betrayal on his tongue.
The donation alerts chimed in rapid succession—£50, £100, £200—each ping like a gunshot to his nervous system. *STAY BABY BOY* flashed across the screen in neon purple, followed by *WE WANNA SEE U CUM FOR REAL NEXT TIME*. Teddy's face burned hotter than his laptop's exhaust vents. His fingers hovered over the "end stream" button, slick with sweat.
"I'll be back tomorrow for more Fortnite," Teddy lied, his voice pitching up at the end like it always did when he fibbed about finishing homework. The chat howled in protest—a tsunami of crying emojis and *NOOOOO* messages scrolling faster than he could read. Someone donated £300 just to type *ILL PAY UR COLLEGE TUITION IF U SHOW UR ASSHOLE*. Teddy choked on nothing.
The mouse cursor trembled over the "end stream" button. Twenty thousand eyes pinned him to his gaming chair like a butterfly under glass. His reflection in the darkened monitor looked impossibly small—cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in damp tufts, shirt collar askew where he'd yanked it on backwards in his panic.
The "end stream" button blinked under Teddy's cursor like a dare. His pinky toe twitched against the cold floor, still bare from his awkward foot display. The chat was a hurricane of begging and dollar signs, but the thought of meatloaf—specifically the way the ketchup glaze always pooled in one perfect corner of the pan—made his stomach growl.
"Okay chat, love you, bye!" Teddy squeaked, clicking the button so fast his mouse skidded off the mousepad. The screen went black. Silence crashed over his bedroom like a dropped blanket fort.
Teddy wiggled his toes again, this time just for himself. The salty taste still lingered on his tongue. He wrinkled his nose—weird, but not bad weird. Like licking a potato chip and realizing you like the flavor more than expected. His discarded hoodie made a satisfying *whump* when he kicked it under the bed with his bare foot.
Teddy's fingers twitched against his Space Invaders shirt as he stared at the darkened monitor. The silence of his room felt suddenly deafening—no pinging donations, no scrolling chat, just the faint hum of his overheating laptop and the distant clatter of pans from the kitchen. His bare foot tapped a nervous rhythm against the discarded sock on the floor.
Teddy's sock slid across the pizza-grease stain on his bedroom floor when he stood up, the fabric sticking for a second before peeling away with a wet sound. He paused at the door, one hand hovering over the knob, suddenly hyper-aware of his bare feet against the hardwood—the same feet that had been on camera minutes ago, toes curling under twenty thousand hungry eyes. The distant clatter of silverware from downstairs sounded obscenely loud.
The kitchen light was too bright after the blue glow of his monitors. Teddy blinked against the fluorescence, his pupils contracting painfully. His mother stood at the stove with her back turned, the meatloaf steaming in its pan—exactly like he'd imagined, the ketchup glaze pooled in one perfect corner. The sight made his empty stomach twist.